"Just fucking great." I thought to myself as Henrietta left my office to go back to her desk.
This had to be Frank Johnson's idea of a joke again. He was the main boss for our section and handled personel also, I had been slowly climbing the corporate ladder and had gotten to the point of actually having a secretary.
Vice President the sign read, with my name on it. Another of Frank's ideas, a title like that got respect when speaking to a potential customer, at least that is what he thought.
Otherwise we would all be just salesmen. which was what we actually were, of course.
We did have executive sessions, which were mostly just to tell all of us what we were expected to sell each month, and we got ranked by volumes.
But there were still so many "Vice Presidents" above me that I didn't get to pick and choose the secretary I wanted.
The last one Frank sent over was about 92, I swear. Plus she typed with two index fingers, so slow that I could get things done faster with an ink pen.
The one before that was at least six feet tall and she didn't have breasts, she had dents.
Frank's own secretary was a blond, about 5'5" and one of those types of women that all a man can do is try and catch a breath after taking one look.
I always figured that Frank was well taken care of in his office but never knew for sure.
Me? I am Barry Wilcox, 32 years old and single after being married once to a woman named Trish, short for Patricia that could spend more than I could ever make.
That was a source of us not getting along too well, finally one day after a few hundred yelling matches she told me she had enough of my "shit" as she called it and she was gone.
Her share was the house, her car and everything she could grab, my share was the credit card bills and my truck.
There wasn't any money, not really. She had already spent all of that.
OK. I admit it. Her leaving me was an upset, I loved her body, the way her hair hung in waves, the freckles that showed above the top of her blouses.
I made a bit of a fool out of myself over a few weeks, then I saw her in a fancy Mercedes with Tom Harmon driving it. The one man on the planet that I disliked most of all.
Tom Harmon was a competitor and he was cutthroat about it. That was the end, I got drunk, then I went home. I woke up and went back to the office and did the best I could.
That was four years ago, I just went back to work and sometimes hit the bars looking for a female friend.
I found a few, too, but nothing that would ever stick. Most of the time I ended up in the bathroom at home by myself, remembering some of the good times.
There was one gal that I took out maybe 8 or 9 times, we were getting things going pretty good. Then one day she asked me how much I made, I told her the truth which was in the 30K range. Well, if my best months were all that high I would make that much.
She got rather cool after that and it wasn't long before she was "busy" when I called.
All of the rest were just one night for one reason or another.
Yea, I became one of those guys looking for something with no real idea of what.
+++
My job is to make sure I sell enough of the Chinese made crap to make bonus each month. If I stand up I can see out the window of my new office and actually see the huge trucks roll in and out of the warehouse.
Big warehouse, too, somewhere around 120 people work out there, mostly stacking stuff. Another part of the crew takes the stuff out of cheap Chinese boxes, and repacks them in pretty good looking boxes with our company logo on them.
Other people are sitting in little cubicles trying to keep track of everything. I could see them sometimes looking out the window when I crossed the parking lot.
+++
My latest secretary Henrietta was one big gal! My guess would be she weighed somewhere around 180 pounds, maybe a bit more. She had a big behind and big breasts that actually sort of matched her size, she wasn't that bad looking and always appeared to be happy.
Not exactly eye candy which is what I would have preferred.
Having the best looking and most efficient secretary was a perk around the office. There were meetings to go to, about 6 times each year we did sales conventions.
You probably know about those, the little name tag stuck on the coat, shaking hands and pretending to like each one of the cheap bastards shaking our hands most of all.
Drinks in the bars at night, always the hope that a cougar will show up.
Dealing with the customers face to face was a pain in the ass.
"I need at least an extra 20% discount." I bet I heard that at least 200 times.
Having a nice and hot looking woman standing around the sales booth caused the buyers to stop and at least listen.
The really good ones let some cleavage show.
Plus tits got customers to not look quite as closely at what they were signing, and if the secretary knew the score then she knew how to stand and move to create a distraction.
Frank Johnson's executive secretary always had her elbows on the table, it seemed. How she kept her nipples inside her blouse is beyond me, I never saw them.
I was thinking that Henrietta was not going to create much distraction although she most certainly had boobs.
In fact, she had a lot of everything.
Then there was always the competition, that one called "Harmon Imports" was the worst. Always cutting prices, always. I didn't like Tom Harmon before, and I liked him even less after seeing him going down the street with my ex.
That part I didn't get. When you make a sale at 20% net, how does doubling the order by cutting the price another 10% gain anything?
Tom Harmon was the owner, he was never very far away if a buyer showed interest in our stuff.
Tom was always snagging a buyer off my line before I could get the hook set.
He never failed to have a hottie around, too, tits sticking out. The only good part was that it was not Trish, my ex wife.
Thank God for that. Knowing Tom, he probably got a one night stand off of my ex wife and moved on. I never did know about how that went, either.
It's an unfair game, of course it's unfair. But it's also the way of the world.
When I griped to Frank about his assignments he told me there were laws, he could not just pick and choose someone based on looks. If he did that, we would get sued, he said.
Yea, sure. So why did Tom Harmon always have something with tits hanging out for his sales force, the other "Vice Presidents" in our company all had women that at least looked like they were female.
At least the ones ranked above me all did, the best I could ever manage was average sales ratios.
Me? First I got Bertha who typed with two fingers or that Carla woman that was the most flat chested female I ever saw in my life.
At least Bertha could make Coffee, Carla sure couldn't. It was either weak like Tea or I had to dig it out with a spoon.
"Maybe if you were in the top ten in sales it would be better, but last month you were 16th, this month you will be lucky to make the top twenty." He told me.
Well, he was right about that. But hell, how was I ever going to move up when he kept giving me secretaries that just didn't have it?
Now I had Henrietta, and the second biggest show of the year coming up in Denver.
All 180 pounds of her.
She was nice with a happy smile though. After visiting with her for an hour or so I couldn't help but like her. She was bubbly, bright.
I figured we would just do the best we could and not worry about it.
"You can call me Hank if you want to, that's my nickname and it stuck way back in High School." She told me.
"OK...uhh...Hank. Well, welcome aboard." I told her.
Great. A 180 pound secretary named Hank. I would be lucky to make the top 30, well, there were 30 of us so at least I would make that. I needed to be 15th or better to make bonus, and I had that damned new Mazda payment coming up.
Over the next few days I did find out a little bit about Hank. She was 29 years old and single, had a degree in business. Hell, she had more education than I did. She had been married once for just two years, to a man who had serious problems keeping his pants zipped up.
I knew damn good and well that looks matter, she was very heavy and that is a handicap in the world of business.
Yea, I know.
Unfair as hell.
The first afternoon she worked with me I went out to ask her for a file, so I could set it on my desk and at least sound like I knew the names of who I was talking to on the phone.
She turned and went to the "Database" which is a pile of records and notes I keep in the corner, and came back with the list in about 20 seconds.
She had already sorted that pile out in alphabetical order.
Then she went to do the reports.
The sound coming from her cubicle was like a damned Gatling gun. I looked around the corner, she was typing.
Her fingers were a blur.
"Henriet..I mean, Hank? How damned fast do you type anyway, a thousand words per minute?" I asked her with a grin.
"95 actually." She told me, looking my way.
Her fingers never stopped moving.
"Damn!" I mumbled as she went over to the files cabinet and pulled out another one I wanted. Then she smiled at me, sat back down and off she went again. I watched her fingers flash on that keyboard, amazing.
I never saw anything like that in my life.
A hour later one of my clients called, she put him through. He was mad as hell, we had shipped him an order and it wasn't there yet.
2500 miles, it had been just two fucking days.
They don't let me drive the fucking truck.
I needed the tracking information, so I put him on hold and pressed the button, asking Hank to get it. I asked her to give it to him and tell him the arrival dates, the guy was so crabby I didn't want to talk to him any more.
Five minutes later I heard some giggling, some conversation. I went out to look, she was leaned back at her desk yapping away.
Feet up, nice and comfortable I guess.
Crap. She was supposed to be working, not visiting on the telephone. She saw me, put a finger to her lips to shush me.
